Ms. Gilmore of Salsville, California
By ZLizabeth
READ AUTHOR'S NOTE! READ DISCLAIMER!
Disclaimer: You've read the other chapters. I have admitted it five times already. Yes, Marla Campun is fake. She writes books about what she sees as "the perfect life" and why it never works out: no one wants the perfect life. I OWN HER!!!
Author's Note: Eek. How long has it been since I updated? *shivers* Well, please forgive me, my dear readers. I went away for the weekend as was without FF.net for FOUR WHOLE DAYS! And then I came back and BAM, school is upon me. I LOVE GRAPHING CALCULATORS!!! So, once again, I'm sorry. And I hope you like this chapter. Oh, and what's Dean's last name again? I got this from some fanfic where reviewers corrected a person and said his name was Hart or something... WARNING: This chapter is mostly about Rory's life in Salsville.
Also, I apologize for my sloppy spelling, grammar mistakes, etc. I'm left-handed, meaning that I CAN'T EDIT my own work. So if I could have a proof reader... if you want to volunteer, just say so in your review. And if YOU need a proof reader, I'd do it for you also. I can speel veeery weel and wod luv 2 do itt. (a pathetic attempt at humor there). Please put your email address in.
The squirrel was being watched.
Had the furry rodent known, it couldn't have cared less. The bright blue eyes that were taking in every crinkle of nose never blinked, but the squirrel was far from flattered. It went on chewing.
It's watcher mimicked the action.
At last the object of her attentions looked up and stared at her and sat quite still. It wasn't afraid, that much was obvious. It did, however, look rather perturbed that this big, hairless lump was trying to familiarize itself with the squirrel's own stashes of nuts. It dropped it's nut before scurrying off, perhaps hoping that the creature would be distracted by the acorn, giving the squirrel time to get back to it's storage tree without the hideous giant seeing.
The Hairless Lump (actually very beautiful by it's own species standards) folded her legs beneath her in the most graceful form and put a few slim fingers over the acorn. She gingerly let her hand enclose around it before dropping it in the pocket of her faded blue coat.
The rock on which she had sat crouched on for an hour, just watching the squirrel, had left it's own pebbled indentations in her blue jeans. She smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could before tightening her periwinkle scarf and gathering her hair in the respectful bun it was usually kept in these days.
The squirrel had invaded her spot two days ago. Every day so far it had come dash around the clearing, collect what nuts had fallen, then make it's escape after it was enough irritated by Rory's open and rude staring to leave.
For the last two days, she had watched the squirrel come and go. That morning she had risen at four, before the sun was even out, to wander to her spot and search the canopy of dry branches to look for his home. Rory had never been a morning person, and her four o'clock extrusions had never treated her well. She could take half an hour of being enchanted by dawn's beauty before she simply collapsed against a tree and slept until her face was splashed by the first rays of sun.
That morning when she'd awoken again to see the squirrel peeking his head out from a branch in the tree in front of her, then diving to the ground. She had leaned forward, cupped her chin in her hands, and watched the squirrel that she found herself loving more then many a thing in her wretched... location.
She had seen the squirrel four times so far. And so far it had left her an acorn each time.
Rory had always had two voices in her head. The voice of her early years had always seen that the resident of the house down the street - the one who wore all black and walked with a twisted cane - was a witch.
And then there was the voice that she had hoped would someday make her famous. The voice that sought a story in the cat-loving woman, wanted to make her into some newspaper character: a misunderstood old lady.
That voice saw no potential in a squirrel, and in it's gift of the acorn. It saw nothing but one of nature's creatures using some defense mechanism it instinctively had: leave an acorn, the predator backs off.
But the voice that knew a witch when it saw one - whether she rode on her broomstick in plain view or tried to disguise her witchiness beneath a mean old lady exterior - that voice loved the squirrel, saw it as different from every other squirrel in Salsville. It fueled the voice to whisper "thank you" to the rodents retreating form.
Salsville had brought the childish voice out from hiding. Her journalistic voice had had little to do in the shifty town. It had gone to sleep when it discovered that Rory was letting it go for some guy that was her most recent love. Rory had realized it's absence when her husband showed her that their house of dreams was a falling down shack in a place where the most polite people were the ones who would take the longest in removing your money from your pocket. She had realized then that she had failed one voice.
It was then that the other voice woke up and kept Rory alive.
"Hello Mrs. Rytfen," Rory said cheerily from her place in the back of Goods and Gorp line.
The woman shifted her eyes ever so slightly and then saw who owned the voice. A smile pumped with artificial flavoring spread across her tight lips, "Mrs. Hart," she purred, reaching out a claw like hand to Rory, "nice to see someone's in back of me. Can't have a girl like me in the back of the line."
Rory had lived here for two years. She was still the new girl.
"Ms. Gilmore," she corrected. It was habit by now, insisting on a more contemporary title in this old fashioned town. She didn't understand why she still bothered. Want of a Ms. was just another thing to add to the list of reasons to dislike the young and "rebellious" Lorelai Hart.
"But isn't this your fourth time in the back of the line this week?" to be in the back of the line and Goods and Gorp was a sign of laziness. In Salsville, you were quick and alert whilst you shopped. The less time it took, the more time you had to sit around at home and practice your "shifty eyes". When you went to the Salsville Mall (a block of buildings calling themselves stores for clothes) your service was curt and rude. They might as well have been screaming at you, "faster, faster, the faster you are the quicker I can leave."
"How is your husband, Mrs. Rytfen?" Rory asked in her most polite voice.
"He is very well, Mrs. Hart. And yours?" the dialogue was sickening and tedious: straight out of a Marla Campun. Right about now the heroine would have rebelled and left the lazy town for intrigue, romance and excitement.
"He has never been in a higher state of content with his life," she answered, trying to add some interest to the conversation. Sometimes she could actually find herself in competitions with the local folk of who could use the most 'big words' in a sentence. They hated it when she outdid them. However, Mrs. Rytfen was a self appointed queen of Salsville. She considered most below her, and was unshaken by any amount of excessive vocabulary.
"I am happy to here that. There has been some silly rumor about divorce being in the wind for you two. But a divorce of such a young and carefree and romantic couple - under the Salsville sky, no less - would be such a shame."
Sly, Mrs. Rytfen. What you mean, of course, is that I can't hold onto the pitiful excuse I have for a husband. And that I'm an idiot teenager who's going to end up living in a shack with a moron for the rest of her life.
You see, I would be mad, but you're right.
"Mrs. Rytfen, it's your turn," Rory's hand made a sweeping gesture to the counter. She resisted a very strong urge to stick her tongue and flap her hands at the witch when she was out of it's line of vision.
The two years had brought great improvement on Rory's ability to withstand temptation.
Only the tip of her tongue made it past her teeth.
"Rory..." Dean walked into the room and gave his wife a stern look, "I need to talk with you."
At that moment, Rory hated herself. She hated herself for praying that this talk would end in a divorce. She hated herself for praying that she would have an excuse to run, crying, to Stars Hollow and into her mother's open arms. Back into the life she had loved, the life that had been made so wonderful by every single resident of the town that was her life.
Dean had been a part of it, but he had stopped contributing to the glory of Stars Hollow when...
Dean's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked down at her shoes, afraid that her face would show her eagerness.
"Rory, I know that a 'where is this relationship' going talk is supposed to be a thing of high-school-sweethart days."
Oh sure. Rub it in that I'm married to my first boyfriend. In that instant she stared at him, trying to appear extremely bitter and unlovable.
"But I think that we need it. You see, Rory, I've been in love with you for a long time."
"Dean, I think I know where this is going," she said quickly and (she hoped) curtly.
"Oh, thank God. We all know I'm no good with words."
"No, Dean, you're terrible with them. Terrible at everything," she was right now trying to figure out what would be the best way to angrily storm up to their room, grab the suitcase that sat in her closet and storm out. Rory had never unpacked. Dean had always told her this was temporary.
"Everything but loving you," he said, his face wearing a little smile that could be called nothing but goofy.
"Not anymore."
"Well, I guess our freshly married relationship is finally over."
"It did draw out for a little, huh?" ugh. She even said that last part with a smile. Why wasn't he giving her what she needed for a fight?
"Well Dean, I don't think I can stand another second in this house. I think I'm going to go pack. Right now! The sight of this shack is... sickening...." his expressionless face hadn't given her the energy she needed to continue her passionate rage.
"Well, aren't we a little drama queen?"
"YES! Now I'm packing!"
"Okay! Okay! Just, well, don't count on moving out of here for a while."
His words froze her. Her foot was left hovering over the bottom step. Her head turned back to him and mission: stomping was halted.
"Do... do you make a habit of keeping your ex-wives hostage?"
Now both their faces showed obvious confusion, "Ror? Ex-wives? What are you talking about?"
"Well, I thought we were getting a divorce...." she was squeaking like a mouse. He came over to her and had pulled her into a hug.
"Rory, no wonder you were so mad! I just meant that we should, you know, start making this into more of a marriage. Get a bigger house, start making our... martial status more obvious to the rest of Salsville. I was talking to Mr. Plezer" the owner of the market where Dean was bag boy, "and he's forgotten all about you. I was lucky enough to get you. I want everyone to know how much we love each other."
Right.
"Oh... well... phew! That was close, huh?" she was crying, she realized.
"Rory, don't cry. Don't cry."
"I... I..."
"You don't have to say anything. It's all right."
"Hey Rory! The usual?"
"Hey Diana. Yes, please."
The coffee arrived. The coffee disappeared. Automatic reactions. She pulled a pen from her purse and began to scribble on her coffee cup.
"What are you writing, Rory?" Diana asked. Why is it, Rory wondered, that everyone always has time to annoy me?
"You know what's great about not working?" was Rory's answer.
Diana sighed, "no, what?"
"You have so much time to do nothing. Christopher Robin told Pooh that his favorite thing to do was do nothing."
"Rory, I'm sensing a ramble."
"Have you ever watched a squirrel? You should. They're so great, squirrels... they're so innocent and bold, so naive, so interested in doing what they do... they have such happy lives."
"Yes, Rory. I suppose you want to be a squirrel?"
"I wouldn't mind it," Diana got up and walked away. Lorelai Gilmore Hart was strange. Diana liked her, but she wasn't sure what she thought of her sanity.
"Well, Rory, if you need anything more..."
"Another coffee cup. I'm out of room on this one."
"Sure," poor Rory. Diana knew how lost Rory was. One time she had even done a paper on her for school - changing her name to Alice Fillmont, of course.
Poor Rory. She looked like she had been one of those who could've been big.
Diana just hoped she didn't end up like her. She was pretty sure there wasn't any hope for Rory.
~
"Rory Gilmore, today is a monumental day. Today is a day that you and I will cherish forever. Today is a day that..."
"Mom!" six-year-old Rory whined.
"all right, all right," Lorelai pouted at the interruption in her speech but skipped to the end anyway, "today I have invited all our friends to witness this event. Kirk has even agreed to videotape it for us. Today we have with us all who are dear and some who aren't," those who were attending the Big Tasting glanced at one another," but that doesn't matter because no one can spoil this day for us! No one! So..." Lorelai glared at Luke. He went behind the counter, took the steaming pot, frowned and gave Lorelai his "you'll regret this face". Luke had a lot of faces for Lorelai.
"Lorelai, you'll regret this. You'll regret this 'til the day you die. If you want to end up lying in a hospital bed attached to New York City's water supply and hooked into the electrical system, fine. But don't do it to your daughter."
"Rory, bambi face, show him the bambi face," Rory looked up and gave Luke the bambi face. Lorelai added her own eyes. Luke frowned again.
"POUR!" Lorelai commanded. He took a mug and poured the coffee. Another stern glance from Lorelai. He took Rory's favorite mug and poured it in there instead.
Rory went up the counter and stood on her toes, her tiny face peering up from below the bar stool. She held up her hands and Luke started to pass her the coffee like he would Kirk when he was being a pest about beverages. Lorelai screeched and dashed behind the counter before snatching the coffee back and then cradling it in her two hands. Then she straightened and cleared her throat.
"Rory, by the power invested in me by me, I now pronounce you able to take your very first sip of coffee," and with these words, Lorelai passed the mug down to Rory. Rory held it in between her hands and closed her eyes. She raised her mug to her lips and tilted back her head before letting the hot liquid heaven slide down her throat and warm her stomach.
Almost the whole town of Stars Hollow stood staring at her. Each was waiting for the moment when Rory proved whether or not they'd win their bet: she'd love it, she'd hate it.
Rory placed the mug back on the counter and held up her arms to her mother. Lorelai picked her up and kissed her forehead.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's yummy," Rory said, "it's very very yummy."
The diner erupted in chaos. Everyone was jumping up and down, Luke was pouting, and Lorelai and Rory were drinking coffee together for the first time.
"Rory, I want to let you know that all coffee is not as good as Luke's coffee. Luke's coffee is the ruling coffee of all coffee's. But there will come a time when you need to buy other coffees. And you will have to learn to live with them. However, if you have lived on non-Luke's coffee for over a week, murder is acceptable to get to it. And when we go home I'll teach you how to make your own - even though that will never be necessary with Luke so close by."
"Unless," Luke added, "it's the middle of the night and I'm asleep and then you will have to make your own."
"Like I said," Lorelai went on as if she hadn't heard the diner owner's grumble, "it will never be necessary. Because Luke will always be there for us."
~
"Luke!" Rory dashed into the diner, panting, "I need coffee!"
"No," the man didn't even look up from the card he was scribbling on.
"But I need it!" she said again.
"Well I haven't made any and I don't have time. Did you not see the closed sign?"
"But your door wasn't locked," the ten-year-old smiled, as if it made no sense. Luke looked up and sighed.
Now that her request had been granted, she smiled and hopped onto a bar stool.
"Who are you writing to, Luke?" she asked.
"Santa Claus."
"Did you ask him to bring me presents? Because I'd really like..."
"I'm writing to my nephew."
Rory leaned forward, "you have a nephew?"
"Yea. It's his birthday sometime next week."
"Next week is my coffee anniversary."
"How could I forget?"
"I'm getting free coffee, right?"
"You always get free coffee."
"But now I'll get more free coffee."
"You know the limit."
"But it's my coffee anniversary," she said in the same dazed voice as before. He gave her a glare.
"What's your nephew's name?" Luke checked the card.
"Jess."
"How old is he?"
"Your age."
"I wish I had a cousin."
"Here's your coffee," he began to usher her out the door, "and practice reading the word CLOSED once you get home. There's a difference between that and OPEN."
"You practice reading the word HARDWARE!" she called as she skipped out the door, "there's a difference between that and DINER!"
He smiled after her, and she stopped outside the diner to smile back. Her smile lit up her face.
~
Dean wasn't home once Rory got back from her eventless day. She collapsed on their couch and began to read. When he got back her kissed her and gave her a smile. He was so happy. So happy that they were "moving on."
But they weren't. They could walk forward as far as they liked, but their hearts were back in their sixteenth year.
She smiled back at him. The shape her lips formed had all the traits of a smile, but her eyes were dull as she looked at her husband.
He pretended not to notice, and tried to remember when Rory had started smiling like that.
By ZLizabeth
READ AUTHOR'S NOTE! READ DISCLAIMER!
Disclaimer: You've read the other chapters. I have admitted it five times already. Yes, Marla Campun is fake. She writes books about what she sees as "the perfect life" and why it never works out: no one wants the perfect life. I OWN HER!!!
Author's Note: Eek. How long has it been since I updated? *shivers* Well, please forgive me, my dear readers. I went away for the weekend as was without FF.net for FOUR WHOLE DAYS! And then I came back and BAM, school is upon me. I LOVE GRAPHING CALCULATORS!!! So, once again, I'm sorry. And I hope you like this chapter. Oh, and what's Dean's last name again? I got this from some fanfic where reviewers corrected a person and said his name was Hart or something... WARNING: This chapter is mostly about Rory's life in Salsville.
Also, I apologize for my sloppy spelling, grammar mistakes, etc. I'm left-handed, meaning that I CAN'T EDIT my own work. So if I could have a proof reader... if you want to volunteer, just say so in your review. And if YOU need a proof reader, I'd do it for you also. I can speel veeery weel and wod luv 2 do itt. (a pathetic attempt at humor there). Please put your email address in.
The squirrel was being watched.
Had the furry rodent known, it couldn't have cared less. The bright blue eyes that were taking in every crinkle of nose never blinked, but the squirrel was far from flattered. It went on chewing.
It's watcher mimicked the action.
At last the object of her attentions looked up and stared at her and sat quite still. It wasn't afraid, that much was obvious. It did, however, look rather perturbed that this big, hairless lump was trying to familiarize itself with the squirrel's own stashes of nuts. It dropped it's nut before scurrying off, perhaps hoping that the creature would be distracted by the acorn, giving the squirrel time to get back to it's storage tree without the hideous giant seeing.
The Hairless Lump (actually very beautiful by it's own species standards) folded her legs beneath her in the most graceful form and put a few slim fingers over the acorn. She gingerly let her hand enclose around it before dropping it in the pocket of her faded blue coat.
The rock on which she had sat crouched on for an hour, just watching the squirrel, had left it's own pebbled indentations in her blue jeans. She smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could before tightening her periwinkle scarf and gathering her hair in the respectful bun it was usually kept in these days.
The squirrel had invaded her spot two days ago. Every day so far it had come dash around the clearing, collect what nuts had fallen, then make it's escape after it was enough irritated by Rory's open and rude staring to leave.
For the last two days, she had watched the squirrel come and go. That morning she had risen at four, before the sun was even out, to wander to her spot and search the canopy of dry branches to look for his home. Rory had never been a morning person, and her four o'clock extrusions had never treated her well. She could take half an hour of being enchanted by dawn's beauty before she simply collapsed against a tree and slept until her face was splashed by the first rays of sun.
That morning when she'd awoken again to see the squirrel peeking his head out from a branch in the tree in front of her, then diving to the ground. She had leaned forward, cupped her chin in her hands, and watched the squirrel that she found herself loving more then many a thing in her wretched... location.
She had seen the squirrel four times so far. And so far it had left her an acorn each time.
Rory had always had two voices in her head. The voice of her early years had always seen that the resident of the house down the street - the one who wore all black and walked with a twisted cane - was a witch.
And then there was the voice that she had hoped would someday make her famous. The voice that sought a story in the cat-loving woman, wanted to make her into some newspaper character: a misunderstood old lady.
That voice saw no potential in a squirrel, and in it's gift of the acorn. It saw nothing but one of nature's creatures using some defense mechanism it instinctively had: leave an acorn, the predator backs off.
But the voice that knew a witch when it saw one - whether she rode on her broomstick in plain view or tried to disguise her witchiness beneath a mean old lady exterior - that voice loved the squirrel, saw it as different from every other squirrel in Salsville. It fueled the voice to whisper "thank you" to the rodents retreating form.
Salsville had brought the childish voice out from hiding. Her journalistic voice had had little to do in the shifty town. It had gone to sleep when it discovered that Rory was letting it go for some guy that was her most recent love. Rory had realized it's absence when her husband showed her that their house of dreams was a falling down shack in a place where the most polite people were the ones who would take the longest in removing your money from your pocket. She had realized then that she had failed one voice.
It was then that the other voice woke up and kept Rory alive.
"Hello Mrs. Rytfen," Rory said cheerily from her place in the back of Goods and Gorp line.
The woman shifted her eyes ever so slightly and then saw who owned the voice. A smile pumped with artificial flavoring spread across her tight lips, "Mrs. Hart," she purred, reaching out a claw like hand to Rory, "nice to see someone's in back of me. Can't have a girl like me in the back of the line."
Rory had lived here for two years. She was still the new girl.
"Ms. Gilmore," she corrected. It was habit by now, insisting on a more contemporary title in this old fashioned town. She didn't understand why she still bothered. Want of a Ms. was just another thing to add to the list of reasons to dislike the young and "rebellious" Lorelai Hart.
"But isn't this your fourth time in the back of the line this week?" to be in the back of the line and Goods and Gorp was a sign of laziness. In Salsville, you were quick and alert whilst you shopped. The less time it took, the more time you had to sit around at home and practice your "shifty eyes". When you went to the Salsville Mall (a block of buildings calling themselves stores for clothes) your service was curt and rude. They might as well have been screaming at you, "faster, faster, the faster you are the quicker I can leave."
"How is your husband, Mrs. Rytfen?" Rory asked in her most polite voice.
"He is very well, Mrs. Hart. And yours?" the dialogue was sickening and tedious: straight out of a Marla Campun. Right about now the heroine would have rebelled and left the lazy town for intrigue, romance and excitement.
"He has never been in a higher state of content with his life," she answered, trying to add some interest to the conversation. Sometimes she could actually find herself in competitions with the local folk of who could use the most 'big words' in a sentence. They hated it when she outdid them. However, Mrs. Rytfen was a self appointed queen of Salsville. She considered most below her, and was unshaken by any amount of excessive vocabulary.
"I am happy to here that. There has been some silly rumor about divorce being in the wind for you two. But a divorce of such a young and carefree and romantic couple - under the Salsville sky, no less - would be such a shame."
Sly, Mrs. Rytfen. What you mean, of course, is that I can't hold onto the pitiful excuse I have for a husband. And that I'm an idiot teenager who's going to end up living in a shack with a moron for the rest of her life.
You see, I would be mad, but you're right.
"Mrs. Rytfen, it's your turn," Rory's hand made a sweeping gesture to the counter. She resisted a very strong urge to stick her tongue and flap her hands at the witch when she was out of it's line of vision.
The two years had brought great improvement on Rory's ability to withstand temptation.
Only the tip of her tongue made it past her teeth.
"Rory..." Dean walked into the room and gave his wife a stern look, "I need to talk with you."
At that moment, Rory hated herself. She hated herself for praying that this talk would end in a divorce. She hated herself for praying that she would have an excuse to run, crying, to Stars Hollow and into her mother's open arms. Back into the life she had loved, the life that had been made so wonderful by every single resident of the town that was her life.
Dean had been a part of it, but he had stopped contributing to the glory of Stars Hollow when...
Dean's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked down at her shoes, afraid that her face would show her eagerness.
"Rory, I know that a 'where is this relationship' going talk is supposed to be a thing of high-school-sweethart days."
Oh sure. Rub it in that I'm married to my first boyfriend. In that instant she stared at him, trying to appear extremely bitter and unlovable.
"But I think that we need it. You see, Rory, I've been in love with you for a long time."
"Dean, I think I know where this is going," she said quickly and (she hoped) curtly.
"Oh, thank God. We all know I'm no good with words."
"No, Dean, you're terrible with them. Terrible at everything," she was right now trying to figure out what would be the best way to angrily storm up to their room, grab the suitcase that sat in her closet and storm out. Rory had never unpacked. Dean had always told her this was temporary.
"Everything but loving you," he said, his face wearing a little smile that could be called nothing but goofy.
"Not anymore."
"Well, I guess our freshly married relationship is finally over."
"It did draw out for a little, huh?" ugh. She even said that last part with a smile. Why wasn't he giving her what she needed for a fight?
"Well Dean, I don't think I can stand another second in this house. I think I'm going to go pack. Right now! The sight of this shack is... sickening...." his expressionless face hadn't given her the energy she needed to continue her passionate rage.
"Well, aren't we a little drama queen?"
"YES! Now I'm packing!"
"Okay! Okay! Just, well, don't count on moving out of here for a while."
His words froze her. Her foot was left hovering over the bottom step. Her head turned back to him and mission: stomping was halted.
"Do... do you make a habit of keeping your ex-wives hostage?"
Now both their faces showed obvious confusion, "Ror? Ex-wives? What are you talking about?"
"Well, I thought we were getting a divorce...." she was squeaking like a mouse. He came over to her and had pulled her into a hug.
"Rory, no wonder you were so mad! I just meant that we should, you know, start making this into more of a marriage. Get a bigger house, start making our... martial status more obvious to the rest of Salsville. I was talking to Mr. Plezer" the owner of the market where Dean was bag boy, "and he's forgotten all about you. I was lucky enough to get you. I want everyone to know how much we love each other."
Right.
"Oh... well... phew! That was close, huh?" she was crying, she realized.
"Rory, don't cry. Don't cry."
"I... I..."
"You don't have to say anything. It's all right."
"Hey Rory! The usual?"
"Hey Diana. Yes, please."
The coffee arrived. The coffee disappeared. Automatic reactions. She pulled a pen from her purse and began to scribble on her coffee cup.
"What are you writing, Rory?" Diana asked. Why is it, Rory wondered, that everyone always has time to annoy me?
"You know what's great about not working?" was Rory's answer.
Diana sighed, "no, what?"
"You have so much time to do nothing. Christopher Robin told Pooh that his favorite thing to do was do nothing."
"Rory, I'm sensing a ramble."
"Have you ever watched a squirrel? You should. They're so great, squirrels... they're so innocent and bold, so naive, so interested in doing what they do... they have such happy lives."
"Yes, Rory. I suppose you want to be a squirrel?"
"I wouldn't mind it," Diana got up and walked away. Lorelai Gilmore Hart was strange. Diana liked her, but she wasn't sure what she thought of her sanity.
"Well, Rory, if you need anything more..."
"Another coffee cup. I'm out of room on this one."
"Sure," poor Rory. Diana knew how lost Rory was. One time she had even done a paper on her for school - changing her name to Alice Fillmont, of course.
Poor Rory. She looked like she had been one of those who could've been big.
Diana just hoped she didn't end up like her. She was pretty sure there wasn't any hope for Rory.
~
"Rory Gilmore, today is a monumental day. Today is a day that you and I will cherish forever. Today is a day that..."
"Mom!" six-year-old Rory whined.
"all right, all right," Lorelai pouted at the interruption in her speech but skipped to the end anyway, "today I have invited all our friends to witness this event. Kirk has even agreed to videotape it for us. Today we have with us all who are dear and some who aren't," those who were attending the Big Tasting glanced at one another," but that doesn't matter because no one can spoil this day for us! No one! So..." Lorelai glared at Luke. He went behind the counter, took the steaming pot, frowned and gave Lorelai his "you'll regret this face". Luke had a lot of faces for Lorelai.
"Lorelai, you'll regret this. You'll regret this 'til the day you die. If you want to end up lying in a hospital bed attached to New York City's water supply and hooked into the electrical system, fine. But don't do it to your daughter."
"Rory, bambi face, show him the bambi face," Rory looked up and gave Luke the bambi face. Lorelai added her own eyes. Luke frowned again.
"POUR!" Lorelai commanded. He took a mug and poured the coffee. Another stern glance from Lorelai. He took Rory's favorite mug and poured it in there instead.
Rory went up the counter and stood on her toes, her tiny face peering up from below the bar stool. She held up her hands and Luke started to pass her the coffee like he would Kirk when he was being a pest about beverages. Lorelai screeched and dashed behind the counter before snatching the coffee back and then cradling it in her two hands. Then she straightened and cleared her throat.
"Rory, by the power invested in me by me, I now pronounce you able to take your very first sip of coffee," and with these words, Lorelai passed the mug down to Rory. Rory held it in between her hands and closed her eyes. She raised her mug to her lips and tilted back her head before letting the hot liquid heaven slide down her throat and warm her stomach.
Almost the whole town of Stars Hollow stood staring at her. Each was waiting for the moment when Rory proved whether or not they'd win their bet: she'd love it, she'd hate it.
Rory placed the mug back on the counter and held up her arms to her mother. Lorelai picked her up and kissed her forehead.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's yummy," Rory said, "it's very very yummy."
The diner erupted in chaos. Everyone was jumping up and down, Luke was pouting, and Lorelai and Rory were drinking coffee together for the first time.
"Rory, I want to let you know that all coffee is not as good as Luke's coffee. Luke's coffee is the ruling coffee of all coffee's. But there will come a time when you need to buy other coffees. And you will have to learn to live with them. However, if you have lived on non-Luke's coffee for over a week, murder is acceptable to get to it. And when we go home I'll teach you how to make your own - even though that will never be necessary with Luke so close by."
"Unless," Luke added, "it's the middle of the night and I'm asleep and then you will have to make your own."
"Like I said," Lorelai went on as if she hadn't heard the diner owner's grumble, "it will never be necessary. Because Luke will always be there for us."
~
"Luke!" Rory dashed into the diner, panting, "I need coffee!"
"No," the man didn't even look up from the card he was scribbling on.
"But I need it!" she said again.
"Well I haven't made any and I don't have time. Did you not see the closed sign?"
"But your door wasn't locked," the ten-year-old smiled, as if it made no sense. Luke looked up and sighed.
Now that her request had been granted, she smiled and hopped onto a bar stool.
"Who are you writing to, Luke?" she asked.
"Santa Claus."
"Did you ask him to bring me presents? Because I'd really like..."
"I'm writing to my nephew."
Rory leaned forward, "you have a nephew?"
"Yea. It's his birthday sometime next week."
"Next week is my coffee anniversary."
"How could I forget?"
"I'm getting free coffee, right?"
"You always get free coffee."
"But now I'll get more free coffee."
"You know the limit."
"But it's my coffee anniversary," she said in the same dazed voice as before. He gave her a glare.
"What's your nephew's name?" Luke checked the card.
"Jess."
"How old is he?"
"Your age."
"I wish I had a cousin."
"Here's your coffee," he began to usher her out the door, "and practice reading the word CLOSED once you get home. There's a difference between that and OPEN."
"You practice reading the word HARDWARE!" she called as she skipped out the door, "there's a difference between that and DINER!"
He smiled after her, and she stopped outside the diner to smile back. Her smile lit up her face.
~
Dean wasn't home once Rory got back from her eventless day. She collapsed on their couch and began to read. When he got back her kissed her and gave her a smile. He was so happy. So happy that they were "moving on."
But they weren't. They could walk forward as far as they liked, but their hearts were back in their sixteenth year.
She smiled back at him. The shape her lips formed had all the traits of a smile, but her eyes were dull as she looked at her husband.
He pretended not to notice, and tried to remember when Rory had started smiling like that.